The Virgin Beauty. Claire King

with his sudden appearance and intense expression, intimidated her more than most. She felt an old, despised clumsiness as she bobbled the box on the counter and watched him automatically dip his knees to catch it before it crashed to the floor.

      “Thanks. So,” she began again after a deep breath, “are you the Nobel welcoming committee, or do you hang around town waiting to help carry boxes around?”

      “I was passing by.”

      “Well, thanks for the help.” She started lifting items, two-handed, from the boxes.

      He’d seen Niebaur’s old vet box bolted into the back of her pickup, knew she’d bought it with the practice she was taking over from the retired vet. This was extra medication, animal supplements, promotional items from feed companies, other fascinating stuff. He could barely keep from brushing her hands away.

      “I don’t want to keep you,” she said after an extended, uncomfortable silence between them.

      Daniel ignored her polite but pointed comment. She wanted him to leave. Too bad. He shifted so he could get a better look at what she was unpacking, and brushed up against her in the process, making them both jump.

      “’Scuse me,” he mumbled.

      “Uh-huh,” she said, giving him room. He seemed to need it. He was huge, at least an inch taller than she was. Maybe two, she thought, and a good fifty pounds heavier. His shirt stretched tight at his shoulders, and his forearms, bare despite the weather, looked like tree trunks. She didn’t want to go lower, because she already felt crowded, but she got the impression of narrow hips and long, long legs.

      He was less interested in her legs than she was in his, Grace noticed in something resembling relief. He was studying the felt-wrapped bundle she’d laid on the reception counter.

      “My surgical tools,” she said.

      He grunted and chewed his lower lip. “Mind?”

      “Um…” She looked at him warily. He had hardly said two words together. “I don’t think so.”

      His dark brows snapped together. Not too difficult to figure out what she was thinking. “I’m not going to attack you with them,” he scolded.

      Her brown eyes widened fractionally. “So you say.”

      He shot her a look that told her not to be an idiot, and reverently unwrapped the instruments. He picked up a scalpel and examined it.

      “You didn’t get these from Niebaur.”

      Funny he’d know such a thing, Grace mused nervously. “No. I bought his vet box, but I got these as a gift from my folks when I graduated from vet school.”

      Another little grunt. “They look pretty new.”

      Nastily said, she thought. That cleared her head, got her back up a little. “They’ve been used. I’ve been out of school for almost two years.”

      “Two years, huh?” He put down the set of hide clamps he’d been absently weighing in his hand and looked at her, surprised all over again at how her eyes met level with his. She was slim, but not skinny the way so many tall women tended to be. Nice, wide hips, a nipped-in waist, high, heavy breasts on a gorgeous chest. He glared at her in a rush of lust and annoyance. “This your first practice then?”

      “My first on my own,” she conceded.

      “It’s a big job for a new vet.”

      “I’m not new,” she repeated slowly. “As I said, I’ve been practicing veterinary medicine for two years, mostly large animal work, which is what the bulk of Dr. Niebaur’s practice consists of. I’m good.”

      “I’m not saying you’re not. I’m saying you’re young. What are you, twenty-five? I’m saying this is a big area for one vet, much less one just out of W.A.S.U.”

      Oh, so he knew where she’d studied, did he? Niebaur must have told him. He’d used the slang term for Washington State University, pronounced “wazoo,” where she’d received her veterinary medicine degree. It made her mad, but because she was accustomed to men making her mad, she just smiled.

      “I think I can handle it. And my age is really of no relevance.” He’d underbid her age by a couple years, pleasing her in spite of herself.

      He made a sound with his teeth and cheek, and nodded dubiously.

      Oh, he was hostile, all right. She didn’t know why, but she could guess. Some men, especially these rangy, manly types, automatically went into full browbeat mode the minute they got a look at her. They were used to walking tall in their little towns, and women such as her unmanned them. Well, tough.

      Grace straightened her spine and lifted her chin to give herself every inch and advantage. She watched his Adam’s apple move in his throat as she did. Probably in irritation.

      “You want to see my diploma?” she challenged.

      Daniel almost drooled. Her neck was long, like a swan’s, like Audrey Hepburn’s, for crying out loud. And when she got huffy her shoulders seemed to widen until he wanted to take them between his hands and measure their width, dig his fingers in a little, test their resilience. Lord, she was one long, cool drink of water. He was suddenly parched.

      “No. Niebaur would have been careful with his practice.” He’d wanted to say yes, just to needle her a little.

      “Oh,” she said. “Well, good.” Naturally good-natured and easily mollified, she tried a closemouthed smile on him, a dismissal and peace offering in one. She didn’t like his attitude, but she also wasn’t in any position to alienate a potential client. She couldn’t remember seeing his name on Niebaur’s client list, but he might have a cat he needed spayed someday.

      She looked at his sharp face, his vast size, and decided no. No cats for this one. And certainly not anything spayed. This man would have a dog, a wolfhound or something, blissfully un-neutered so as not to offend his manly sensibilities.

      “I should probably get busy in here, Mr. Cash. If you would excuse me.”

      “It’s Daniel. Where are you living?”

      She stared at him. “I beg your pardon?”

      “Where are you living?” he repeated, ignoring her ruffled feathers. He knew he was being rude. He knew why, of course. She was in his building, with the practice that should have been his, would have been his if not for fate and a horrible lie he’d never been able to disprove. What he didn’t know was why he was so reluctant to slink out and leave her to her unpacking. He hoped it was because he was small and petty and bitter, all manageable, if not particularly honorable, emotions. And not because she was just so damn tall and because he could vividly picture where she’d fit if he shoved her up against that newly painted wall she seemed to like and wedged his knee between her thighs. That was not manageable. Not manageable at all.

      “Where am I living?” she echoed. She thought of a million reasons he shouldn’t know, all big-city, woman-alone reasons. But what difference did it make, really? She was this town’s vet now, the only one in a hundred square miles. She’d have to post her home phone and address for her patient’s owners anyway, sooner or later. “I’ve rented a house.”

      “Here in town?”

      “What—what—” Now she was stuttering. Wonderful. She wondered if punching Daniel Cash, landlord and probably Noble County scion, her first day in town would lose her many customers. “Why do you want to know, Mr. Cash?”

      “Daniel.” He corrected her again. “I have some other properties here in town. Just curious.”

      She doubted that. “On Fourth.”

      “Mrs. Hensen’s old house? Did she get those front steps fixed?”

      “I don’t know. Also sight unseen.”

      “You have plans for dinner tonight?”

      She